


Happy Birthday, Asshole: A Spamano One-Shot

by kierathefangirl



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Dorky Spain, M/M, adorable angsty Romano, engaged Spamano, tired Roma, world meeting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-27 02:18:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17757926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kierathefangirl/pseuds/kierathefangirl
Summary: Romano is exhausted and quiet. England greets Spain and tells him "Happy birthday." Romano panics for a second, and does his Romano thing: turn your anxieties on everybody else. Don't let anyone see you upset.





	Happy Birthday, Asshole: A Spamano One-Shot

**Author's Note:**

> February 12th is APH Spain's canon birthday. I wrote this in celebration and also because in my group chat we had a roleplay moment (I'm our Romano) in which I nearly forgot, so this happened.
> 
> Romano does curse/cuss a little. It's Romano. :)
> 
> "cazzo"=the f word (Italian); "novio"=sweetheart/implied boyfriend (Spanish); "hermoso"=gorgeous/beautiful (Spanish); "tesoro"=sweetheart (Italian); "Ti amo"="I love you" in Italian; "te amo"="I love you" in Spanish; "también"=too/also (Spanish)

It’s the end of another world meeting. España is still being the loud and outgoing jerk he usually is, but with extra enthusiasm.

“Hey, uh…” England breathes and steels himself, then lifts his eyes to sort of glare and sort of make eye contact with España. If he says something mean, I swear to god I’ll—

He flashes an apologetic smile. “Uh, happy birthday, Spain.”

The room is silent for a minute, then explodes with sound. I’m frozen against the wall, and my mind is blank. _What? That was today?_

I check my watch; February 12th, 2019. _Oh. Shit. Uh…_

He gets swarmed, which gives me a second to breathe and try to find an excuse for not bringing it up. I don’t even know what to say—I mean, fuck, we’re engaged. If anyone remembers the idiot’s birthday it should be me.

“ _Cazzo,_ ” I mutter to myself. Now what do I do? It’s not like I, after agreeing to marry the idiot, can just dismiss his five hundred and fiftieth birthday.

The noise dies down, and I immediately get a snapped comment from America, “Hey Romano, why didn’t you remind everyone it was your fiancé’s birthday today?”

Everyone turns to me. I’m pressed to the wall frozen.

I cross my arms defensively over my chest and glare at him. “How old do you think he is?”

“I dunno. Three hundred?”

I laugh. “No. Higher.”

He blinks. “Uh…”

“Four hundred,” Veneziano calls across the room.

“Close, Vene,” I praise him with a smile.

España is quiet. Everyone looks questioningly to him, calling out numbers higher one at a time.

By the time they’ve reached four hundred fifty I’m too tired to listen anymore. I shake my head. “No, you morons. Five hundred and fifty.”

It’s quiet for a minute. I gesture. “The idiota officially was recognized as a country fourteen sixty nine. If you paid any attention to him you’d know that, but clearly you’re oblivious.”

Veneziano catches the aside, the brush off of my own I-almost-forgot moment with turning it back on the others—he gives me that knowing look, but he smiles and luckily doesn’t comment.

“Aww, look,” Veneziano gestures, “Roma remembers the exact date España officially became a country! He does pay attention to him.”

España is grinning and staring at his feet, and he isn’t speaking.

I shove from the wall. “It’s not my job to remind the rest of the world. You hardly ever pay attention to me anymore as is and you fucking know it. Why should I try to get your attention if you don’t care enough to ask for my opinion anymore? Just because I know him better than you do doesn’t mean it’s my job to remind you of every special day in his life. Fuck off.”

It’s quiet for a minute. España, still grinning, crosses the space and scoops me into a hug. “You’re fantastic, novio.”

“Oh hush,” I grumble, but I hug him back anyway—mostly to apologise for what he doesn’t need to know. At least…not in front of the others.

“Awww,” France giggles, “look, Lovi’s being affectionate!”

“You’re not allowed to call me that,” I snap at the blonde. “Only Veneziano, España, and Seborga can call me Lovino. You can’t even call me Roma; I don’t like you.”

España giggles. “Be nice!”

“No.”

He pulls back enough to grin at me without letting go. _I’m never the one to initiate this, but…fuck man, he loves physical affection. It means the world to him._

I breathe and close my eyes for half a second. España is too busy giggling and shooting glances at a grinning France to see the gears turning—not until it’s too late.

España turns back with barely enough time. I immediately flip off France’s whooping appreciation, but I just ignore Vene’s little giggles. He’s never seen me kiss España at all, let alone initiate the whole thing.

España hums a little contentedly and melts against me; he reacts exactly the way Grandpa Rome always said the person you love is supposed to act when they’re kissed or hugged by you.

The room is quiet for half a second, then explodes with cheers as he’s released. España giggles a little, blushes, and grins at me. “What was that for?”

“Happy fucking birthday, asshole.”

He laughs a little harder, scoops me up against him in a tight hug, and murmurs a soft “Thank you, mi hermoso Lovino.”

Veneziano breathes in quick and starts giggling. “That’s unusual.”

Everyone looks to him. He grins shyly. “I’ve, uh, I’ve never seen him do that with anyone.”

They now turn to look at me. España giggles and sets me down, and he’s got this big stupid grin on his face that makes it worth it.

I breathe and roll my eyes. “Yes, Feli, that’s true—but why the hell would I kiss people in front of my little brother? You’re a solid hundred years younger than me, tesoro.”

He grins. “You’re abnormally affectionate today.”

“Have you ever paid attention to notice,” I point to España, “how much he loves affection?”

Everyone laughs, all of them except España. España instead goes a deep shade of scarlet and grins shyly at me. “You are being a little more affectionate than usual, novio.”

I sigh exasperatedly and look to him. “What do you always complain about, always? That I am _not_ affectionate, or _not_ affectionate enough. It’s your birthday; I think I can handle pushing my own limits a little if it makes you happy. And judging by the stupid smile, I think it’s enough.”

He tilts his head, then reaches out to ruffle my hair. “You’re fantastic.”

I step in, press against his side, and wrap a protective arm around him. He wraps a gentle arm around my shoulders and massages my arm a little, and he shrugs at the giggling form of Veneziano. “I dunno either. Maybe he’s just tired.”

“Italia,” Germany nudges Veneziano. “Hey. Are you okay?”

Veneziano turns to hug him and keeps giggling. “It’s just so _funny_!”

It’s quiet for awhile, aside from Veneziano’s incessant giggles. He eventually calms just enough to grin and tell me, “I’m telling Seb when we get home.”

“You do that. I really don’t care.”

“What other days don’t we know about, Romano?” America demands. He has Google Calendar open already like the asshole he is.

“January 20th is the national celebration of his birthday in his country, February 12th is his actual birthday, and March 17th is Vene and I’s birthday, the day of Italian unification, and also idiota and I’s hundred and fifty-eight year anniversary.”

“Good to know,” he types in the three and saves them.

“Wow,” España blinks. “You do pay attention.”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, you dumb fuck, I pay attention to you. Who agreed to marry who?”

He grins. “Oh, I’m sorry Mister Perfect, did I insult you there?”

I elbow him hard in the side. He laughs and doesn’t fight back, just kisses my forehead and looks away grinning.

The meeting breaks, and with a mischievous grin España scoops me off my feet cradle hold. “Come on, sweetheart; we’re going shopping.”

I make a general noise of disgust. He laughs and slides safely from the room, succeeding in not slamming me on the door like last time he did this hold.

He’s into his plane quick and tucks me into one of the seats. He tells the pilot we’re going to the open-air market in Barcelona, and he shrugs and agrees. We lift off.

España settles down next to me and scoops up my hand in gentle fingers. “Okay,” he breathes, “maybe you don’t wanna say it in front of the others, but something’s off.”

I breathe and melt against his side. “I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep at all last night.”

“You mean you forgot?”

“No,” I shake my head. “I knew there was something important but couldn’t quite pin it. I’m too tired to process everything the way I normally can. It does mean my anxiety is basically gone now, hence I’m comfortable being more affectionate than usual—but it also means I’m spacey and my brain is kinda swirling with too much shit to think clearly.”

He kisses my cheek and rests his head on top of mine. “It’s okay. We’ll get tomatoes and churros and go to sleep. Sound like a plan?”

“Mmm, okay.”

He laughs a little. I close my eyes and yawn. “Ti amo.”

A grin breaks across his face and he’s quiet for a couple minutes. “Te amo también, novio.”


End file.
